nd stole his neighbor's goods;
Whom will the Sower follow ne'ertheless,
And as he cuts the boundless harvest, bless.

Or let us try the following description of the Hotel de Ville in the
French Revolution:

'O evening sun of July! how at this hour thy beams fall slant on
reapers amid peaceful woody fields; on old women spinning in
cottages; on ships far out on the silent main; on Balls at the
Orangerie of Versailles, where high-rouged dames of the palace are
even now dancing with double-jacketted Hussar officers; and also
on this roaring Hell-porch of a Hotel de Ville. Babel-tower, with
the confusion of tongues, were not Bedlam added with the
conflagration of thoughts, was no type of it. One forest of
distracted steel bristles endless in front of an Electoral
Committee.'

FRENCH REVOLUTION: BOOK V., CHAP. VII.

SONNET II.--THE HOTEL DE VILLE.

O evening sun of most serene July!
How at this hour thy slant refulgence pours
On reapers working in the open sky,
And women spinning at their cottage doors,
On ships far out upon the silent main,
On gay Versailles, where through the light quadrille
Hussars are leading forth a high-rouged train,
And on the hell-porch-like Hotel de Ville.
Not Babel's tower with all its million tongues,
Save Bedlam too therewith had added been,
To mingle burning brains with roaring lungs,
Could feebly imitate that dreadful din;
One endless forest of distracted steel
Bristling around that mad Hotel de Ville!

Or to return to Professor TEUFELDROeCKH'S vast chaos of ideas. Let us try
another passage therefrom:

'It struck me much as I sat beside the Kuhbach, one silent
noontide, and watched it flowing, gurgling, to think how this same
streamlet had flowed and gurgled through all changes of weather
and of fortune, from beyond the earliest date of history. Yes,
probably on the morning when JOSHUA forded Jordan; even as at the
midday when CAESAR, doubtless with difficulty, swam the Nile, yet
kept his Commentaries dry; this little Kuhbach, assiduous as
Tiber, Eurotas or Siloa, was murmuring on across the wilderness,
unnamed, unseen.'

SARTOR RESARTUS: BOOK II., CHAP. III.

SONNET III.--ETERNITY OF NATURE.

One silent noonday, as I sat beside
The gurgling flow of Kuhbach's little river,
Methought how, even as I s